


From hot sands to cold lands

by Beepups



Category: OC - Fandom, Skyrim
Genre: Dragonborn - Freeform, Fantasy, Fantasy Racism, Khajiit - Freeform, Other, Racism, Skyrim - Freeform, Will add as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beepups/pseuds/Beepups
Summary: Vilea, on her search for a better start in life for herself gets tangled up in some nasty business.





	From hot sands to cold lands

**Author's Note:**

> My little project to start writing more. I'm gonna try keep it active and update as much as possible but I have no wifi and going to the library is kind of a luxury at this moment.

Travelling is part of Khajiit nature. To stay still is human nature. To seek for a better life, now that is something every race can agree on but having the wish isn’t enough. You need to work hard, even when it looks useless, keep going. After all ‘The perfect society is always found elsewhere’.

The cold tends to be a bearable element, if you can’t tolerate it then Skyrim isn’t the place for you but it seems that lately many races have been fleeing from their own provinces there. All prior to the ridiculous war that broke out in the province of course. The “civil” war.  
Honestly there is quite literally nothing civil about it, and you know why? For an empire that claims it is open to diversity, its behaviour sure is unbecoming to outsiders.  
However this didn’t stop Vilea, a Khajiit from Dune, from travelling to the cold land. Tired lilac eyes, long dread mane and slowly growing claws which she would have to trim soon. Her fur a light brown-ish grey with almost Tortie markings. The left side of the crown of her head that merged with her muzzle was a black tone, covering her entire left ear. Her eye’s lining red and muzzle covered in scars from her few run ins with bandits and other dangerous creatures. With time her mane had started to grow back and having already sent her old one to be used by the Mane she kept these ones. Heavy braids that grew and curled around each other due to her frizzy and thick hair and formed dreads. A look that Vilea was rather fond of.

The khajiit moved closer to the border, having been dropped off by a caravan not too far from it. From this side of the border Skyrim didn’t seem all that cold, although the breeze caught in her fur sending shivers down her spine it was still bearable. She tugged on her cape, to shield her further from the wind. Under her cape her body was protected by a leather armour she’d been able to buy from the merchants back in Chorrol, now arriving at the closest entrance to Skyrim near Falkreath.  
“You over there, cat!” The khajiit in question opened her eyes wide at the lack of respect. Cat? Really? She shook her head but proceeded forward anyway to the guard who called her forward at the border.

“Yes?” Her voice raspy, it’d been quite some time since she’d last drank any water and the food she had brought with her on her trip was starting to run out.  
“Travelling papers.” The guard, wearing a signature red scarf around his neck and worn out chain mail held out his hands. His gauntlet covered in scratches from how worn it was. Nothing about the overall look of the guard screamed ‘This is the land where you’ll find what you’re looking for’ but there was no turning back now, the Khajiit was too far from Elsweyr and it’d take another two or three month trip to return to her home. Regardless she nodded and handed over her papers, provided and signed by the officers of her home city. Never the less, she knew all her information was in order and she was sure it wasn’t odd to see Khajiit coming into Skyrim, right? Even if the land was very cold there was bound to be a good reason as to why she’d heard so many in Cyrodiil speak great things about the income of the province and how fruitful it was.  
The guard narrowed his eyes and pushed the papers into her hands, messing them up a little. There was somewhat of a hatred in his eyes as he eyed the khajiit. “You expect me to believe that’s real. Get lost!”

“But--?” Khajiit looked down at the letter. It was definitely not a fake. Nothing was differently from the first time she looked at it so how come he didn’t believe it? “Sir please I urge you to look at the letter again. You’ll see that it is no fake. I came from the city of Dune and have taken all the required procedures to enter your province legally.”  
“Tshh, no cat. That is a fake. Now leave before I decide to arrest you for holding fake travelling papers!” Vilea stepped back bemused at the exchange. She narrowed her eyes and started to walk back, crossing her arms. The khajiit huffed and pulled her dreads over her shoulder. No! She would not give up. She was going to get into Skyrim even if it was the last thing she did. She looked back at the border. Vilea took another few steps back, crouched, the guard eyeing her suspiciously.  
“Try arresting me now!” She sprinted on all fours towards the border, successfully climbing up the rock wall and onto the other side, landing a little harshly on her left arm as she tried to break her fall. Regardless, better than getting her legs broken by the impact of the fall. She huffed and carried on on both legs, running as fast as she possibly could before she felt a sharp tug at her leg. Vilea cried out at the feeling, looking down briefly only to see a cut through her boot which managed to nick a little of her fur and flesh but still she continued on.

A group of guards that were behind the border ran after her, some swinging their sword whilst commanding her to halt and archers shooting arrows in her general direction. But catching her proved to be quite a task, one which a toddler could probably complete. As soon as blood started flowing out she decided that was it for her. She slowly came to a complete stop, clutching her wounded leg and kicking off her boot. Vilea looked up, tears threatening her eyes as the guards came closer, soon surrounding her and pulling her up by the arms. But that wasn’t enough, oh no. As she was pulled up another guard hit her on the back of her neck with his elbow successfully knocking her out with the blow.  
“Get her into the second carriage to the execution. What’s one less to this damn breed of thieves.”

And so onto the carriage she was pushed onto, where Ulfric Stormcloak sat bound up, mouth covered with a piece of linen and hands chained.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading it. As I said I'll do my best to keep updating it every month in the very least.


End file.
